


Where We All Come Together

by AMaskOnTwoFaces



Series: Those Lonely Souls [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 'Cause Clint Barton, Break Up, Chocolate Fixes Everything, Eavesdropping, Everyone's a little messed up, Explicit Language, Harry is the Magical Chocolate Fairy, Honeyduke's Best Chocolate, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Intersex Loki, Odin's A+ Parenting, POV Clint Barton, Past Brainwashing, Phil Coulson Is a Good Bro, Shapeshifting, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2018-12-13 16:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11763852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMaskOnTwoFaces/pseuds/AMaskOnTwoFaces
Summary: Clint likes to curl up the air duct above the main common room.  He’s safe, protected, high, and has the comforting sounds of his teammates living their lives wafting up to him.  Sometimes, though, he hears some rather… private conversations that, honestly, he never wanted to be a part of.





	1. Let's Talk About Sex

Clint likes to curl up the air duct above the main common room.  He’s safe, protected, high, and has the comforting sounds of his teammates living their lives wafting up to him.  Sometimes, though, he hears some rather… _private_ conversations that, honestly, he never wanted to be a part of.  He swears, he doesn’t want to eavesdrop and invade his teammate’s privacy, but once the sensitive topics start, there’s no way he can leave without alerting those talking that they were being listened to. 

Besides, it’s not an issue that he spends hours isolating himself in high, small spaces.  No really, it’ not!  Whoever says otherwise is a lying liar who lies.

Anyways, the first time the accidental eavesdropping happens, it starts with Thor and Loki chatting away about realms and magic, their conversation losing some of the tension their interactions tend to have.  Something about having to redefine their brotherly relationship after some major family issues or whatever that makes it impossible for then start conversations with each other like normal people, but Clint’s been finding that once they’ve started talking, they kinda forget that they’re supposed to tiptoe around each other, which either leads to them getting along swimmingly, or Loki getting majorly insulted by an idiotic thing Thor says. 

Right now, though, Clint’s just content to let their voices wash over him as he curls up into the nest of pillows and blankets that he’s hijacked into his air duct, and hopefully any hissy fit Loki throws doesn’t affect him.  He’s pretty sure Harry’s in the room as well, but the kid’s being pretty quiet.  (Yes he knows that Harry’s not actually a kid, but he looks and acts like one, especially around Loki.  He can, however, be one scary SOB when he wants to, and Clint isn’t about to forget that this kid is the same one who single-handedly defeated the powerhouse who masterminded the whole almost-alein-invasion shindig.)  Regardless, Harry’s probably cuddled up with Loki, the two of them surprisingly being the most domestic of the entire team, especially considering that they’re in the in the running for the most fucked up out of the mess that makes up the Avengers.

Loki does an uncomfortable topic change, “I have recently been ruminating on my research from when I was learning to shapeshift…” It’s the hesitation in Loki’s voice that makes Clint tune back into what they’re saying.  Loki being unsure isn’t too uncommon, considering that he’s now living with the team that was brought together to take him down, but he’s been raised as a prince to an entire fucking world, hesitancy and meekness were adjectives that Clint didn’t think _ever_ applied to Loki’s actions.  So, sure, Loki can be unsure on what course of action he should take sometimes, but once he decides, he sticks to it, proud as punch.

“Was there something of import you recalled?” Thor asks, sounding confused at Loki’s weirdness as well (but Jesus Christ, couldn’t these people just say things normally?).

“I…” Loki’s voice shakes, “Do you remember my son, Sleipnir?”

“Of course!” Thor yells—no, bellows, that’s definitely a bellow, “He is a mighty steed!”

“He is not a steed!” Loki spits, “He is my son!  One of the kindest and most intelligent beings you will ever meet!  It disgusts me that you would speak such about your own nephew.  Or is that the line where you stop considering me your brother?” he growls with disgust, because, yeah, what the fuck?  His son’s a fucking horse?!? 

“My deepest apologies, Loki,” and damn, Thor’s probably got the Kicked Puppy FaceTM going in full force right now, “I forgot myself.”

“Yes, yes,” Loki sounds resigned, sighing like he regrets his life’s choices, but surprisingly letting the insult pass, “Regardless, I had always held the belief that it was due to myself shape shifting into a mare which allowed me to birth Sleipnir,”  What. The. Fuck.  “but upon reviewing my studies, I recalled that there was not a single case where shifters were not rendered sterile upon shifting into the opposite gender.”

“You are curious as to why this was different for you?” Thor was surprisingly quick to the draw.  Then Clint remembers that this guy is several thousand years old and (after a huge worldview shift), realizes that the big guy is actually more of a blockhead than Clint himself.

There’s silence from below, so Clint guesses that Loki is nodding and everyone has quizzical looks on their faces.

“It’s because you’re Jötunn,” Harry says suddenly, startling Clint since he almost forgot the kid was down there.

“What does this have to do with me being a Frost Giant?” Loki says icily, and, yep, being part of a  frosty alien race explains so much about Loki’s personality.

“Jötnar are intersex.  They all have a combination of what we would consider male and female anatomy,” (Clint can’t decide if that’s sexy or weird.  Then he realizes this is _Loki_ they’re talking—who gave birth to a fucking horse—and chooses option C: very disturbing.) “It’s due to their extended exposure to so many cultures and races with binary genders that Jötnar started developing gender roles into their culture.  The warriors became known as ‘men’ and those with non-violent positions became known as ‘women’,” Clint could _hear_ those finger quotes, “This was mainly due to Jötnar choosing to not have the child bearers on the battlefield, as that slows down the warrior and puts the child at risk.”

“So you believe that regardless of Odin’s disguise for me looking male, I am, and in fact, always have been, perfectly capable of getting pregnant?”

Oh, Clint wanted to leave _so_ _bad_.  He was not _at all_ okay with this topic, but he didn’t even _dare_ shift in discomfort for fear of discovery.  He and Loki might have a mutual-brainwashing sort of understanding, but it didn’t mean that Clint wasn’t still terrified of the guy.  This was TMI to the extreme, and he had no idea how Loki would react to learning that Clint had heard this.

“Most likely,” Harry continued, answering Loki’s question while Clint held his breath above them, “The idea of gender fluidity in general is very widely accepted on Jötunheimr, as the number of ‘men’ in the population changes based on military need.  Jötnar will switch gender roles as needed due to war or peacetime, or even if they just want a change in lifestyle.”

Loki hummed, “So my habit of shifting into differently gendered beings would not be considered strange there?”

“They wouldn’t even blink.”

“How do you know this to be the truth?” Thor finally speaks up, “We know none of this on Asgard.”

“Do you ‘Know thy enemy?’” Harry quotes bitingly.  It’s no secret that Harry dislikes Thor, or at least all the bigotry that Thor’s culture raised him with.

“We make valiant attempts to,” Thor returns, admitting a lack of perfection.

There’s a shifting sound, possibly a shrug?  “I spent several years touring the realms, since I had a sudden access to all these new races and cultures and all the time in the world to explore them,” Harry admitted, “You can learn a lot interacting with different populations, but you can learn much more about their private ideals and how people think if you can listen in from their shadows behind closed doors,” and Clint tries heroically to not to think about how creepy and invasive that kid’s shadow walking skill is, nor about the parallels that could be drawn to Clint’s current position, “At one time I have no doubt that Jötnar being intersex was common knowledge, but it most likely became unimportant once they started acting like other binary societies.  Eventually that info probably became rumor, then myth, then was forgotten.  Your books and elders might still know.”

“I have no doubt they shall assist us should we require such knowledge,” Thor replied.

“Would they not just answer if we ask directly?” Loki asked, because, yeah, nothing like the source itself, right?

“I don’t believe so,” Harry was serious, “They wish to be seen as equals to the other realms.  Letting it become common knowledge once more that they are intersex instead of binary just makes them more different and strange to the other races.  It will make them more likely to be seen as enemies than as allies, so they will want to hide it.”

Loki hummed, “Thank you, Harry,” he sounded distracted, like in the lost-in-your-thoughts sort of way, “this has been most… enlightening.” 

They picked up a safer conversation soon after, but it was clear that Loki was not invested in their new topics.  The man (and Clint thinks Loki’s still considered a man, even after such a revelation) excused himself quickly, which, no really, he literally said “If you’ll excuse me” and everything.

“Well,” Harry drawled after Loki’s absent-minded departure.  Thor huffed a laugh.

“I believe I will be taking my leave as well.  I shall see you on the morrow?”

“Yeah, see you Thor.”

Harry waited around for a couple minutes after Thor left.  For no apparent reason.  Clint was starting to get jittery the longer he stayed in his condemning spot.

Harry then proceeded to scare the ever-living _shit_ out of Clint.

“Just so you know, I’m currently the last one in the room, and I’m leaving now.  See you around, Clint.”

Aw, _fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Look! This is already posted!
> 
> ... because I was working on this while stuck on the ending of the previous story.
> 
> This was originally going to be "5 Conversations Clint Never Wanted to Hear, +1 He Was Glad He Did", but since I had so long to ruminate over this, I decided that I really wanted to do more with this arc than that. 
> 
> I'm really excited to be working on this story, but fair warning, I'll soon be restarting school, where I'll be a full time architecture student who also coaches a small sports team. Time will not be on my side during this time, and it may take several months for a chapter to get posted. However, I will be attempting to complete the next chapter or two before this happens.
> 
> Chapter title inspired by "Let's Talk About Sex" by Salt-N-Pepa.
> 
> As always, feel free to leave comments and Kudos!


	2. Two's Company, Three's Eavesdropping, and Four's a Crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint’s already forgotten what the couple is arguing about; he’s more interested in how hateful their voices are, especially Pepper’s. Their relationship has been a little rough around the edges for as long as Clint’s known them. He thinks that Pepper has a hard time with the danger Tony’s in as Iron Man, but Nat’s raised eyebrow at their heated conversations makes Clint think that it wasn’t like this when she was undercover at SI, so something else must have happened since then to continuously rile the couple up like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive!!
> 
> So sorry for leaving you all hanging; I knew I wouldn't be able to write over the semester, but was unfortunately unable to get anything else posted before it started.
> 
> I got a quite a block with this story as well, and still have no idea where it's really going, especially since I had initially intended to make this one a little more lighthearted than my other works in the series, but, as you'll see in this chapter, that didn't really work out.
> 
> However, I do hope you enjoy, and I also hope to not leave you hanging for so long in the future!

The second time starts with Tony and Pepper arguing about work.

Clint has steered clear of his favorite ~~hidey hole~~ ~~reconnaissance spot~~ nest for almost a week (four days, but that’s close enough, right?).  But now, he’s back, and he’s not about to let some raised voices drive him out.

“It wasn’t like this four weeks ago,” Pepper is accusing with a vile tone.

Clint’s already forgotten what the couple is arguing about; he’s more interested in how hateful their voices are, especially Pepper’s.  Their relationship has been a little rough around the edges for as long as Clint’s known them.  He thinks that Pepper has a hard time with the danger Tony’s in as Iron Man, but Nat’s raised eyebrow at their heated conversations makes Clint think that it wasn’t like this when she was undercover at SI, so something else must have happened since then to continuously rile the couple up like this.

“Well, four weeks ago, I had different priorities; we _all_ had different priorities,” Tony shoots back, sounding pretty calm for how long this argument’s been going on.

“So you admit it!” Pepper crows, triumphant.

“No,” Tony pushes, “four weeks ago, most of the world didn’t know just how real the threat of aliens was.  We need to focus on this project instead.”

Tony’s the only one Clint can see through the vent, so he watches as Tony leans against the counter, crossing his arms in a show of defensive body language.

“You just want to prioritize that project because it lets you work closely with _Bruce_ ,” Pepper spits, making Bruce’s name sound like poison.  Which is uncalled for.  Bruce is awesome, thank you very much.

“Bruce has nothing to do with this,” Tony hisses, hands now pulling to fists at his side as he takes a step forward, defending his science bro, to Clint’s agreeance.

From what Clint understands of Pepper and Tony, Tony shouldn’t be the cool head in their relationship.  It’s Pepper who’s supposed to be the stone-cold businesswoman extraordinaire.  But here she is with a blown gasket, screaming Tony’s head off.  It’s Tony who’s looking in control, if a little sad, like he knows where this is going, doesn’t want it to go there, but has made peace with this end result anyways.  Clint hopes to hell they aren’t breaking up, but he’s called Hawkeye for a reason, he’s supposed to notice things (- _like where the Helicarrier will be, without a radar for reference; like how to best amass the enemies of SHEILD to work together against them; like the quickest way to down the Helicarrier; like-)_.  _Shit_. _No brain, don’t go there_.  Like—like how Tony thinks this is going to end in him no longer in the best relationship of his life, and like how Bruce must have been pulled into this conversation for a reason, and like—

Oh.

_Oh._

_Shit._

_Tony likes Bruce_.

Like, Tony is totally crushing on Bruce, and now Pepper’s figured it out.  She knows that her relationship with Tony is drying out, and she’s _jealous_ of the affection that Bruce will no doubt get in the near future, cause while he’s never cheated on her, she knows that Tony’s heart isn’t truly hers anymore, and this is her temper tantrum, this is her being _hurt_ that it’s all coming to an end; that this thing, this thing that they had is tumbling down around her ears and there’s nothing she can do to stop it; but she isn’t ready; she isn’t ready for this to end, yet all she can do anymore is yell and scream and try her very best to not let herself cry over this—she’s not _gonna_ , it’s not _worth_ _it_ —while Tony stands there with resignation in his eyes, watching with heartache as he causes so much pain in the most beautiful person to enter his life to date.  And Clint can see this, like he sees everything.

Cause he’s Hawkeye.

He turns away.  This is private, and he’s looked too far.  He shouldn’t have seen Tony’s long face, filled with regret as he watches Pepper scream herself out, he shouldn’t be watching as the man resigns himself to the fate of his relationship burning itself to ashes.

He tenses, the raised voices of Tony and Pepper’s dying relationship fading to a roaring background in his ears as he analyzes his space, realizing (too slow, far too slow) that he has an intruder.

It takes him a long second to recognize the small form tucked in the far corner as Harry Potter.  He’s slouched against the side of the vent, arms draped loosely over his knees; a reasonably unthreatening position.  But he’s still an intruder to Clint’s private ~~sanctuary~~ space, so he refuses to relax his guard, instead glaring at the kid with his thousand-yard stare, which he knows for a fact even Coulson and Nat get unnerved by, even if they don’t show it (to most people’s eyes), but Harry just lazily eyes him back, like he can’t even be bothered to be bothered by the scrutiny.

Dimly, Clint’s aware of doors slamming shut below him, followed by an almost ringing silence, alerting him to the fact that the volatile couple has vacated the common room.  He remembers that Harry can do that creepy shadow-walking thing, so that’s probably how he got up here without Clint noticing.  Does he even have to be walking for that to work, or can he just lounge around and phase through walls as he pleases?

Harry licks his lips, says, “My first girlfriend was a redhead.”  Which… okay, kinda outta nowhere, but whatever.  The kid looks away, more as a way to gather his thoughts than from any discomfort brought on by Clint’s eye contact.  His eyes flick back, such an unnatural, brilliant green, almost glowing in the darkness of the vent, and he continues, “Our relationship ended in much the same way; we both had high tempers, and neither of us took the news of my immortality well.”  Alright, so that relates a little bit more to the argument that just went down in the common room, which makes Clint wonder just how long the kid’s been sitting up here without him noticing, and hates himself just a little more for the lack of situational awareness.  He should be better than this, teleport-y magic powers be or no.  “She’s the reason why I left Earth the first time.  I needed to get away from everything familiar, to immerse myself in something so new and extraordinary that I wouldn’t be able to think on her anymore.”

His eyes bore into Clint’s, and Clint suddenly has an intimate understanding of just how unnerving his thousand-yard stare is, cause Harry’s is about ten times worse.  The kid speaks pointedly at Clint this time, “But not everyone deals with grief and pain the same way.”

And _nope_.  Clint’s not gonna have any of this.  His shrinks psychoanalyze him enough as it is; he doesn’t need his teammates—or _whoever_ —putting their two cents in as well.  Clint feels his lips tightening into a thin, tense line as he turns and kicks open the vent, shimmying down before walking (or at least not flat-out running) over to the stairwell and taking the stairs two at a time up to his floor, hoping to hell that Harry’s smart enough to not follow him; to just leave him the _hell_ alone right now.

But it’s not Harry that is waiting for Clint on his floor.  Instead he’s stopped short by the sight of Coulson standing at his apartment door, hand raised as if to knock.  Coulson’s eyebrow is raised as he looks over his shoulder at Clint, like he’s surprised to find him outside his rooms (- _the only place where being compromised affects no one else.  If he’s alone he can’t hurt anyone.  He can’t-_ ).

He _can’t_ —

The stairwell door slams shut behind Clint, making him flinch, and he starts forward to try to cover the movement, but the set of Coulson’s jaw as he turns towards Clint tells him the effort’s wasted. 

Clint keeps his head down as he approaches, just trying to brush past with an, “Excuse me, Sir,” even though, clearly, Coulson’s here to see to Clint, and he probably isn’t going be turned off by the cold shoulder.

He’s proven right when Coulson speaks, “Clint,” his voice tightens, “I—we need to talk.”

Fuck that.  Clint is not in the mood for this shit. 

“Not right now, Sir,” he growls, glancing over his shoulder at his handler—or, no, he’s still his handler.

Coulson just sighs, and Clint’s so done with all this shit, with everything, but he flings the door open wide when he gets it unlocked, and Coulson’s kind enough to close it gently after himself when he follows Clint stomping inside.  Clint watches long enough to see Coulson head to the kitchen before he toes off his shoes and throws himself face down on his couch.  There’s some dishes clinking and possibly the faucet running, before Coulson comes over and sets something down with a glassy clank on the hardwood floor by Clint’s dangling arm.

“Drink,” Coulson says to the back of Clint’s head, “it’s just water.”  Fingertips ghost through his hair before their owner heads back to the kitchen.  Clint grunts, just burrowing further, doing his best to ignore the order.  (- _it was a suggestion, not an order, he doesn’t have to follow it.  But he wants to follow it, that’s what’s so enticing; following the suggestion will give him what he wants, will make him feel_ -)

_Shut Up!!!_

He cracks an eye open, shifting his head so he can glare disdainfully at The Fucking Glass of Water That’s Ruining His Life Right Now.  On second thought, he’s not thirsty right now; not one bit; no sir-ee.

Clint whines, stuffing his face back into the couch cushion so he doesn’t have to look at the temptation.

“Talk to me,” says a voice by his ear, and Clint’s breath hitches, he can only take so many surprise confrontations right now, and this is one too many; the flood within him breaks.  His hands clench like they’re trying to hold the words inside, but they pour out anyways.

“He—he twisted my fucking _desires_ around.  So, it didn’t matter if I was given orders with loopholes I could exploit; I _wanted_ the same fucking thing as _Thanos_!  I _wanted_ to invade my own fucking planet!  I _wanted_ the human race enslaved!  Half the time they weren’t orders, they were _suggestions_ , and I was just so _fucking_ on board with his plan that I thought it was _right_ to follow the _fucking suggestions_!”  Clint pushes his torso up, forcing himself to meet Coulson’s eyes where he kneels on the other side of the armrest, “What the _fuck_ am I doing here, Coulson?” he sobs, “I can’t trust _myself_ anymore, how do you all trust me to even live around you, let alone have plans to have me watch your _backs_ in some future fight?  What the _fuck_ are you thinking!!”

Coulson’s hands come up, cupping Clint’s head, thumbs smoothing the tears away from his cheeks.  Clint shakes at the gesture and the care behind it.  (He wants to wipe away the tears running down Coulson’s face, too, but he doesn’t dare.  He doesn’t trust himself.)

“I led an attack on the Helicarrier. I almost brought the fucking _Helicarrier_ down.  And I personally killed those twenty-one SHIELD agents. And now I’m fucking creeping in the vents, eavesdropping and invading everyone’s privacy.  And—and—and—” he stops, choking on the catch in his throat, realizing that he’s run out of words.  His mouth opens and closes, expecting more to come, but that’s it; he’s run dry, and he finally just gasps for air instead, feeling the warmth soaking into his skin from where Coulson’s hands cradle his face, knowing he doesn’t deserve the contact, the comfort, but he’s too weak to push it away.

Coulson just swipes his thumbs again through the tears streaming down his face and breathes, “Oh, Clint,” and Clint sobs harder, collapsing into Coulson’s shoulder.  Coulson just pulls him in closer, even though Clint knows it’s dangerous for him to be here; _he’s_ too dangerous to be this close; he—he—

“Oh, _Clint_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pushing myself to write longer and longer (let me tell you, I got a /lot/ of practice with lengthy writing this semester, but fiction is a whole different animal). I'm also not perfectly happy with this chapter; the beginning scene was the most challenging, along with the transitions between the scenes (if you've noticed, I've just cut to different scenes in my previous works to avoid this weakness), so if you have any tips or constructive criticisms about my writing, please feel free to pass them along in the comments.
> 
> Also, I'm trying to write in present tense instead of (my natural) past tense, so if you see any place where I slipped up, please point them out!
> 
> As always, feel free to leave comments and Kudos!


	3. Good Morning, America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Good morning, Steve.”  
> “Ma’am,” he says simply. God, sometimes Steve’s just so adorably awkward.  
> “Now, none of that. It’s just Pepper.”  
> “Of course, Ma’am.” –and other times Steve Rogers is a little shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another!
> 
> Honestly, I'm not too sure about this one, but sitting on it any longer wasn't going to change anything, so please let me know what you think!

“Good morning, Steve.”

“Ma’am,” he says simply.  God, sometimes Steve’s just so adorably awkward.

“Now, none of that.  It’s just Pepper.”

“Of course, Ma’am.” –and other times Steve Rogers is a little shit.

She snorts, and Clint—as deaf as he is—can _hear_ the smugness radiating off Steve for getting Pepper to loosen up a little.  Things have been tense around the Tower since Tony and Pepper finally broke up.  The final push had been so explosive, Pepper left for a week.  It’s still rare to see Tony out of his lab.  Though in good news, Tony’s been keeping himself relatively sober and seems to be taking care of himself decently well, so it’s not like he’s gone on drunken science benders and created sentient toasters or flying Roombas or whatever, so Clint thanks him for that.

Pepper—after loosing her cool in so many arguments with Tony—is back to her professional CEO self, though she maybe tends to be a little more brusque than before.  Steve getting past that wall is good for her; she needs a friend to help her loosen up again.  That’s the issue with her life having revolved around Tony’s; all her friends were Tony and his close friends.  As far as he can tell, both Tony and Pepper have been doing a decent job of keeping their drama away from their friends, being nice enough to not drag the others into their issues, but leaving them (and Pepper especially) without anyone to lean on.

“Steve, I know you appreciate art.  There’s a show opening at the MoMA this weekend.  Would you be interested in accompanying me Saturday evening?”  Come on Steve, say yes, she needs a friend here.  C’mon man.

“That sounds wonderful, Pepper.  I’d love to go with you.”  Yeah man! Good choice, good choice.

“Great, I’ll request the tickets then.  It’s a black-tie affair.  Do you have a tux available, or…?” 

“Ah, no? Not exactly, I mean—”

“Oh, that’s fine Steve.  I’ll have the tailor come over tomorrow to whip you together something.  Are you free around two?”

“Yes? But you really don’t—”

“Alright, he’ll be here at two.  JARVIS, could you be sure to remind Steve of his appointment tomorrow?”

“ _Of course, Miss Potts_.”

“Thank you, JARVIS.”

“Pepper, that’s really not—”

“We really should get formal wear for all of the Avengers.  I’m surprised this hasn’t been an issue yet,” her heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she walked away from Steve’s stuttering form, “JARVIS, my office, please,” and the elevator closed around her.

Steve sighed, and the barstool creaked when he stood up, “JARVIS, could you tell her that that’s really not necessary, please?”

“ _On the contrary, Captain Rogers, a tuxedo is the proper wear for Saturday’s event, and I can assure you that the cost is negligible to Miss Potts._ ”

“I understand that I need a tux, but I’m perfectly capable of going out and picking one up myself, Pepper doesn’t need to—”

“ _Captain Rogers, Miss Potts wishes to purchase a gift for her friend.  Please don’t undermine her efforts_.”

Clint stifles his laughter.  Steve just got steamrolled by Pepper _and_ an AI.

“You know Clint, you could help me out instead of just laughing at me.”

 _What!_  No. How’d he—

“Oh, ah, sorry.  I know you know I have super-senses, but I guess you wouldn’t really know that I can usually hear you up there, especially when it’s quiet in here.”

Yeah, Clint was aware of Steve’s super-senses, but he’d forgotten that that skill was _that_ good.  _Shit_.  Thor and Loki could probably tell he was there too.  Is that how Harry keeps sniffing him out?  Or does Harry have other death-powers he uses?

“Clint?  I’m sorry, that was rude of me to startle you like that.  You know what?  I’ll just leave.  You were probably up there for a reason.  Sorry to bother you.”

“Wait, no!” Clint calls out, wincing as his voice echoes along the metal shaft.  He takes a deep breath, mentally hitching up his big girl panties before pulling himself down from the ceiling, “No, um—I mean, yeah, you startled me.  I did forget that you could hear me.  But I think I would prefer it, you knowing that I’m there.  I feel like a big creep sometimes, cause people sometimes start private conversations, not realizing I’m up there, and, uh, it gets a little awkward,” Clint trails off, awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

“Would it work to have some sort of signal that shows you’re there?  Or would that bother what you’re doing up there?”

“Well, uh, maybe?  I’m not really doing anything.  I just like being around people without actually having to interact with them.  And being up high makes me feel safer.”

“Could it be something small then, like a ribbon hanging out the vent?  We could just spread the word that that’s a sign that you’re in the room, but don’t want to be bothered.”

“Yeah,” Clint breathes, “Yeah, that could work.”

“Alright,” Steve beams, “I’ll see you around, Clint.”

Clint nods, feeling a little weak as Steve leaves, “JARVIS?” Clint’s voice shakes.

“ _Yes, Agent Barton_?”

“Where’s Coulson?”

“ _Agent Coulson is in the gym.  He says that he could meet you at your apartment, if need be_.”

“I—ah—yeah.  Thanks, JARVIS.”

“ _Of course, Agent Barton.  Agent Coulson has replied that he is on his way up_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...yeah.
> 
> Please feel free to leave comments and Kudos, as always!
> 
> EDIT: I forgot to give credit where credit is due! The sentient toaster and flying Roombas are a shout out to scifigrl47's Toasterverse, which is amazing and you should go read it. The main plot is in her series "In Which Tony Stark Builds Himself Some Friends (But His Family Was Assigned by Nick Fury)", and she has some hilarious shorts in her series "Phil Coulson's Case Files of the Toasterverse". Go forth. Enjoy it.


	4. Up on the Rooftop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> /“Up on the rooftop, reindeer pause…”/
> 
> He gives half a wry smile towards Loki’s inquiring expression. “Your voice in my ear against the blue wasn’t a good combination,” he explains.
> 
> Loki’s face smooths. “Ah,” he says, like he understands. Maybe he does.
> 
> … nothing to do with Christmas, but an otherwise accurate chapter title.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Hello! Still alive! Just... in Europe--Germany specifically--for the semester. While I don't have any extra-curriculars besides exploring cool places while I'm here and have access to this continent, I'm not doing nearly as much writing I I had hoped to do. Sorry.
> 
> But here is a thing! Please enjoy!

The sky is blue; empty and clear today.  But it’s a blue that’s soft enough, grey enough from pollution that the color doesn’t bother Clint.

Close.  But not quite.

He hears the soft sound of the balcony door sliding, footsteps making their way unerringly to his position.  He’s crouched on a ledge around the corner, out of sight of most of the balcony.  The steps aren’t immediately recognizable, and Clint soon realizes it’s not because he doesn’t know them, but because he’s not used to hearing them so loud.  He realizes that Loki is trying his best to not to startle Clint, like he’s some sort of feral animal.  Perhaps he is.

The man in question stops just shy of coming into view, and there’s a slight scrape of leather against stone in what must be him leaning against the wall.

“Agent Barton.”

It’s just a whisper, barely heard over the wind that always seems to exist so high up, but it’s suddenly oppressive—with that wide blue expanse stretching before him—and Clint’s breath hitches, his legs locking up. 

 _Aw, legs, no_. 

“Agent Barton? Are you well?”

Loki’s voice sounds again, louder this time, and filled with concern that wasn’t there Then.  It’s enough to let Clint take a deep breath, loosening his muscles a bit.  Loki must hear something in Clint’s vitals, because he doesn’t call out again.  Some minutes pass before Loki tries again.

“I wished to speak with you.”

His voice is still in that louder tone, helping Clint to continue separating now from Then, but he’s still left on edge.  Literally, too.

“You have no obligation to reply, no obligation to hear me out, and I will willingly leave you in peace if you wish it so, but I know that our past has poisoned the blood between us, and I wish to cleanse the wound before it’s left festering too long. I wish for us to speak freely, for I have wronged you.”

“Can you—” he swallows, trying to clear his throat, “Can you get to where I can see you?”

No questions asked, Loki complies, stepping up to the balcony’s railing beside Clint’s ledge, placing his pale hands stiffly on it like he’s afraid the building won’t welcome his touch.  He dresses differently now—less militaristic, less battle-ready—and that, more than anything, helps Clint to fully relax again.

He gives half a wry smile at Loki’s inquiring expression. “Your voice in my ear against the blue wasn’t a good combination,” he explains.

Loki’s face smooths.  “Ah,” he says, like he understands.  Maybe he does.

Clint returns his focus to the city below, blackened and broken from the battle, yet still full of life.  People continuing on like they were before, because regardless of its wounds, New York’s inhabitants have enough will to keep going; to patch the scars, to rebuild, to keep living. “I wasn’t the only one here who was wronged.”

“Perhaps not,” is the only stiff reply.

“C’mon.  I thought you said you wanted to talk.  You’ve gotta give me more than that.”

Loki looks away, over the city as well.  His voice turning soft again, “I understand what you mean, with the blue.” His lips twist.  Less wry, more self-deprecating than anything.  “Of course, Thanos is not the only reason behind my hatred for the color.”  He breathes in, clearing steeling himself for something, then something starts…melting?  Starting at his head, like a curtain drawing down.  A blue curtain.

Yay. Magic.

It’s when the little show’s complete that Loki looks back at Clint, his eyes a bloody red.  His skin is blue, little lines of white tracing simple designs over everything.

Clint lets himself blink.  His jaw is hanging a little lower than normal, but it says something about his life experiences that it’s not all the way on the floor (what floor?), because what the fuck?  “What the fuck?”

Loki’s grin is sharp, definitely self-deprecating now, “I’m a Jötunn, a frost giant.  The feared enemy of Asgard.  The monster under every child’s bed.”

An entire race as enemies of Asgard?  There’s something messed up there.  Like, the definition of racism.  “Were the monsters under your bed too?” he prods.  Maybe not the most sensitive thing to say, but Loki doesn’t seem like a guy who appreciates being handled with little kid gloves.

Loki’s response is a swallow as those alien eyes dart away, “Perhaps.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t know, then, about…” he waves at Loki’s form.

The god—Jötunn—whatever—scowls. “No, I was not aware of my…unusual origin. Not until just after Thor’s failed coronation.”

“And you weren’t ever supposed to find out.”  A statement, not a question, since he’d been raised to fear his natural race, the race he was born as and had no hope of changing.

Loki’s lips curled in agreement, his teeth still white and normal looking in a weird juxtaposition against his blue lips, all the more alien-looking for the glimpses of humanity left in this form. “I killed their king—my birth father—as proof of my loyalty to Asgard, and attempted genocide on their entire people soon after.  Odin was… disappointed with my response.”

That… he didn’t really know what to say to that.  What do you say?  ‘I’m sorry you ended up being everything you were raised to hate?’ ‘I’m sorry you felt like you had to go to such extreme lengths to show it didn’t matter to you?’ ‘I’m sorry even those lengths didn’t work out?’

Loki didn’t seem to need a response from Clint, though.  He just kept talking, getting closer to spitting his words out now, “Odin was disappointed.  Thor… I could bear to set my eyes on him no longer.  It was clear now why he had long been the child who could do no wrong in the eyes of the people, while my actions had always been viewed with suspicion and disgust.  It came down to our birthrights, as I had long suspected, but with deeper chasms separating our positions than I could have ever guessed.”

His eyes are manic now, teeth bared in disgust.  Disgust for himself, for Odin, for the universe in general; who knows?

Those blood red eyes find Clint’s, and it’s unnamable, what he sees in there, but familiar, “I let go.”

He doesn’t quite understand the meaning of what Loki said, there’s some sort of context missing, and Loki must see it on his face, that he understands there was gravity in those words, but he isn’t entirely sure if they mean what he thinks they mean; what Clint would make them mean.

He elaborates, to make sure Clint understands, to make sure the power of those simple words can be shared, “I was over the void—the nothingness the Bifrost spans—the nothingness which none have returned from before.  Only my grip on Gungnir—my fath— _Odin’s_ spear—kept me from falling into its depths.  Thor on its other end, Odin beyond him.  I said to Odin; I did it for him, all for him. He told me _no._ ”

The eyes are boring now, searing into Clint.

“And I… let go.”

Clint has to look away.  He finds openness, nothingness below him.  A void, with nothing to catch him.  _Oh_ , he thinks, and he understands.

A glance back a Loki shows the man’s face turned away, hair hiding whatever expression he wears, but hands pale again on the railing.  “We can continue this again, if you wish it so.”  And he pushes away, heading back inside.

But, that… that can’t be it. Clint can’t let it end on that note, “Hey, wait!”

He scrambles back to the balcony, pulling himself over the railing so he could stand facing the  god.

“Is this how we’re doing this then?” he calls, “Like for Like?”

Loki looked back, shrugging, all lithe grace and lazy power, “I cannot unsee what shadowed secrets I had spied within your mind, only share the ones residing within me to attempt to balance the scales.”

Clint lets him go this time, unimpeded, but he understands what was in Loki’s eyes now, why it was so familiar. 

He has nothing left to say to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …this was supposed to be a clearing the air sort of thing, but then Loki went and decided to talk about his frost giant issues, which, while I was planning on addressing these eventually, I have no idea where that came from in regards to this chapter.
> 
> Questions, comments, ideas, concerns, or emotional outbursts? Feel free to leave any and all of these in the comments below!! I also enjoy Kudos! Any and all feedback is food for my soul!


	5. Howl to the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This kid actually scuffs the ground with his toe, “I—er—mayhavegottensuspendedfromschool. But, look!” He whips out a shiny box from some presumably magical depth of his robe-cloak-thing, and presents it with a hesitant grin to an unimpressed Harry, “I brought you Honeyduke’s Best Chocolate to make up for it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet_Dark_Silence, this chapter was inspired by your comment! Thank you! And thank you to everyone who comments, your feedback is always appreciated!

There’s a kid, just... sitting in the common room.

He’s got bright bubblegum blue hair, all the way to the roots, and these black… robes?... over grey slacks, a rumpled white dress shirt, and a black and yellow striped tie.  He perks up, practically leaping out of his seat as soon as Clint sets foot in the room.

“Hullo!” he chirps—fucking _chirps_ —at Clint.

“What the fuck?” because, really, _what the fuck?_   How’d the kid even get up here, he barely looks like he’s hitting puberty, and while he’s all lanky and oddly graceful, he doesn’t seem like someone with near enough training to break into the Tower’s penthouses.

His hair fucking _turns pink_ at Clint’s remark, blending in with the blush crawling up the kids face, and _aw, kid, noooo,_ don’t be magic too.  He’s had way too much magic in his life lately to deal with this.

“Are you harassing my godson, Agent Barton?”

Clint doesn’t jump, no sir-ee.  He just turns around really fast, alright?  And there’s Harry Fucking Potter, leaning against the door jamb separating the common room from the kitchen, with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face.  Loki’s peeking over his shoulder, looking curious about the proceedings, but not nearly enough to actually intervene.

“Oh! Hullo there Pops! You look good! Not a day over seventeen!”

Harry snorts, “Alright, stuff it Lupin. What are you doing out of school?”

“What, I couldn’t just be visiting my favorite godfather?”

“The same godfather you had all summer to visit and didn’t? Nope. Try again.”

The kid’s hair flushes red this time.  “I… brought you a present?”

Harry pauses, raising his eyebrows in a _are you shitting me right now?_ kind of look, “Now why does the fact that that was a question make me _more_ nervous?”

This kid actually scuffs the ground with his toe, “I—er—mayhavegottensuspendedfromschool. But, look!” He whips out a shiny box from some presumably magical depth of his robe-cloak-thing, and presents it with a hesitant grin to an unimpressed Harry, “I brought you Honeyduke’s Best Chocolate to make up for it!”

The kid’s grin wavers and falls the longer Harry stands there with The Most Unimpressed Face EverTM, and starts to look downright nervous as his godfather (Godfather, really? They look basically the same age!) approaches, takes the box, unwraps it, and proceeds to peruse the goods inside. 

Harry looks up at the Lupin kid, “Edward Remus Lupin,” he says, in a surprisingly scary _you are in sooo much trouble, mister_ voice, “Is this intended as blatant bribery to prevent me from punishing you for getting suspended from school?”

Lupin’s full-on _sweating_ now, and all the color has blanched out of his hair, “Ye-yes?”

All the tension suddenly leaves Harry’s frame, and he snatches up the box of chocolates, “Brilliant, just wanted to make sure we’re all on the same page here.”

Lupin and Clint both watch, stunned, as Harry just turns and walks back into the kitchen, already pulling open a bar of chocolate to munch on.

“Did—did he just…”

“Yeah,” Clint’s shocked himself, and claps the kid on the shoulder, “Kid, he actually took your bribe.”  He pauses, “Your godfather’s weird, ya know?”

Lupin breaks into a little happy dance at his plan being successful against all odds, then turns to Clint with his hand outstretched, “I’m Edward Lupin, but everyone calls me Teddy.  And, yeah, he’s a little odd, but he’s also been forced into being a loner his whole life, so I don’t really blame him.”

Clint takes the hand, “Clint Barton, call me Clint.  And how’d you get suspended from school, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Teddy grins, “I may have gotten into fisticuffs with a Gryffindor student in order to defend Harry’s honor.”

Harry reappears, “Screw my honor.  The public can’t make up its mind whether it wants to love me or hate me.  I stopped caring when I was twenty.  You hungry?” he motions to the kitchens behind him, “We made some roast chicken and treacle tarts,” Teddy goes running for the food, “You too, Clint,” Harry throws over his shoulder as he walks away again.

Never one to pass up free food, Clint shrugs and follows.  He didn’t know Harry could cook (since this probably wasn’t the work of a Prince of Asgard), but given Teddy’s enthusiasm, there’s nothing to be worried about.

Harry waits until they’re all seated at the kitchen table, digging in to the warm, greasy meat, to say, “By the way Teddy, by the time your suspension is up, I want six feet on why you shouldn’t have gotten caught in a fistfight against one of your classmates, and what actions you should have taken instead to prevent this result.”

Teddy splutters, trying to talk around the food in his mouth thanks to Harry’s bad timing.  “But—but the chocolate—!”

“Was to prevent me from punishing you for getting suspended,” he sounds unimpressed, “I don’t care that you got suspended, if you remember, I never even finished school. This is a punishment for what actions you decided to take that led to that suspension.”  He grins, “For shame, child; are you or are you not the son of a Marauder?”

“You—you—”

Harry smirks, “I may have been sorted into Gryffindor, but I’m truly a Slytherin at heart; don’t try to play games with me little honey badger.”

Teddy shows the vast maturity he contains for a kid his age by sticking his tongue out at his godfather, “Badgers eat snakes for dinner, so it’s you who should be scared.”  And then he proceeds to actually turn his face into a honey badger.

Clint’s really proud of himself for not falling out of his chair.

Loki laughs, sharp and loud, “Truly, I have not seen a metamorphagus of your talent in far too long.”

The kid’s face returns to his face, blue hair and all, “I’m sorry, we haven’t met yet; Edward Lupin, but call me Teddy,” he sticks out his hand, proud smile on his face for having his shape-shifting talents recognized.

Loki takes his hand regally, “Loki, God of Mischief.”

The kid’s jaw drops.  “Really?” he squeaks.

“Maybe if you visited me every once in a while, you’d know these things,” Harry grumbles.

“Really,” Loki smirks, ignoring Harry’s side-comment.

Teddy’s hair flickers between a whole myriad of colors, and he’s emitting these little squeaky, dying noises.  Clint looks at him out of the corner of his eye, concerned that he might need to stop eating this heavenly food and help the kid out.  Harry doesn’t seem concerned, but Clint’s not actually sure what fazes him except for Thanos-level crazy, so he’s not really comfortable relying on Harry to show when there’s actually something wrong with his godson.

“If you finish those six feet for me, and ask _very_ nicely, I’m sure he’ll be amiable to signing the Marauders’ Map for you,” Harry bargains.

“But—but that’s so _long_ ,” he whines, looking at Loki like it physically pains him to be this close yet unable to touch.  Clint’s mildly creeped out by the idol-worship, but Loki looks like he’s enjoying every second of it.

Harry sighs, leaning back in his chair, “Just describe the events that led to you being suspended, and think of different actions that you could have taken to prevent it.  Like—I dunno—pranking the Gryffindor kid and placing the blame on someone else, or luring him to somewhere where a fistfight wouldn’t get seen, or waiting till supper to put a Hair-Be-Gone potion in his drink.  Things like that.”

Clint blinks, “…Aren’t you supposed to be teaching your godson _good_ morals?”

Harry shrugs, “Whose morals are the right morals?  I just say that you should do what you think is right and don’t get caught if the law says different.  I was on the run as a fugitive when I was named his godfather after all, so it’s not like his parents were big sticklers for following the law either.”

Clint doesn’t really have a response for that, so they all turn back to eating.  Teddy’s eyes never stray long from Loki the entire time, and there’s several instances where he misses his mouth with his fork in his distraction.  Even with the constant worship, though, Teddy is the first one to finish eating, leaving quickly to go start his paper (six feet is a _lot_ of words) so Harry can stop haggling him about it and he can get actual access to Loki.  He looks back with these giant doe eyes the entire time he’s exiting the kitchen though, so the essay might just be a way for Harry to keep Teddy from constantly harassing Loki while he’s here. 

Clint does feels sorry that the kid’s bribe didn’t actually work out earlier, but he sees what Harry was trying to teach there; if you’re gonna bargain, know your terms and be specific, otherwise you’ll get duped; you’re godfather will get the fancy chocolate on your dime, and you’ll _still_ have to write a long essay in punishment for your actions (or at least, it seems, for getting caught in those actions; Harry’s morals are almost concerningly loose, but then again, when compared to the rest of the Avengers—*cough* _Tony_ *cough*—he’s really not that bad).

Loki pauses after a bite of treacle tart, an idea suddenly occurring to him, “If that was how he reacted to finding out I’m the God of Mischief, how is your godson going to take the news of my adoption of you?”

Harry groans, placing his hands over his eyes, “Merlin, I apologize ahead of time if he faints.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain really wanted Loki to have a Spock moment, like, ‘Fascinating. That is a level of talent unseen with many metamophagi.’ Hahaha…ha…ha….  
> …  
> Anyways, Teddy’s not a character I’m familiar with, but I kept imagining him as an overgrown puppy with legs so long he keeps tripping over himself in his excitement. But also has manners, to an extent (Because British?). Idk. I just needed some happy fluffy times in my life, so this happened.
> 
> Questions, comments, ideas, concerns, or emotional outbursts? Feel free to leave any and all of these in the comments below!! Kudos are also gladly welcomed; they feed this author’s soul!


	6. The Kids Aren't All Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint pokes his head out of the vent, met with the upside-down smiles of two bemused magic users. He flips down to the floor and gives them a sheepish (right-side-up) smile in return.
> 
> “So…” he begins, “did I hear something about kids?”
> 
> “Yep!” Harry replies, “You sure did. Chocolate?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUUUUYYYYSSS!!!
> 
> First; thank you so much for all your comments on that last chapter! I loved hearing all of your feedback! And due to popularity, Teddy is back!
> 
> Second; thanks to your comments, I gained much inspiration (whether intentional on your part or otherwise), and this story has gained an actual, real life plot. So, thank you!
> 
> Third; if any of you are maybe possibly interested in being a Beta for me (I will *totally* return the favor, all mutually-beneficial like), I’m looking for someone to bounce ideas off of and help me do preliminary readings on stuff. Plus, having someone else to hold me accountable always makes my actions more consistent, so there wouldn’t be so much of the months of silence followed by sudden bursts of chapters. If you’re interested, shoot me a PM! 
> 
> (Or message me just because! I’m currently in a foreign country that I barely speak the language of, and therefore have very few people to talk to, so feel free to say hi, if you like!)

Something startles Clint awake.

He doesn’t make any outward sign of his sudden transition into wakefulness, and he uses that advantage to take stock of his surroundings before he decides on any reactions.  He’s sitting up, cold metal at his back, and sound is muffled and amplified in the way only being inside a large metal container could make it.

Right.  He’s in the vent above the common room. 

And is that someone squealing?

Oh.  The Lupin kid—Teddy—it sounds like.  Clint’s lips curve up at the thought of the excitable teenager.

Then he pauses.  Did he just—he did, didn’t he?  Clint had just fallen asleep in a relatively public place, with people other than Strike Team Delta nearby.  Huh.  How’s that for progress.

He feels floaty, high on delight of the obvious sign of his continued recovery.  Enough so that he feels good enough to go check out whatever Teddy’s doing down below.  Or not, he changes his mind, once he catches sight of the three magic-users gathered together.  Loki looks smug, which is always concerning, Harry just facepalmed, and Teddy is hyperventilating so bad it’s a wonder he hasn’t passed out yet.  Yeah… no.  That’s still a little too much crazy to purposefully insert himself into.

There’s a massive scroll laid out on the table next to them, and Clint takes a look at the gorgeous calligraphy penned onto the parchment (Parchment? Really? Just— why?),

_‘—and then, once he fell asleep, I could have made use of the Marauder’s Map and my invisibility cloak to sneak into the Gryffindor dorms—Victoire would have provided the password without question—and placed Wart-O-Frog upon all of his clothes, giving him warts all over when he got dressed the next day.  Or, if it could have been procured on such short notice (I could wait for it, but then it would be less obvious to Mitchel that this was retaliation for his comments in regard to Harry), I could have—’_

Jesus! Was that the six-foot essay?  Already? It’s—he checks the quality of light the room below—it’s not even noon.  Was Teddy up all night writing that?  He looks at the kid.  Papery skin? Check.  Bruises under his eyes? Yep.  Ink-stained hands? Uh-huh.  Still in yesterday’s clothes?  They’re definitely rumpled now (which is more of a Bruce look, really).  Hair droopy and messed up?  Eh.  Hard to tell on that one due to all the spastic colors going on there.  But essentially, yes, he looks like someone who hasn’t had a wink of sleep yet.

“He _adopted_ you?” Teddy squeals.  And—oh, that.  Not quite sure why Loki inspires such hero-worship from the kid (enough that he went and wrote a six-foot punishment essay in the span of a night in order to get in contact with him again), but it’s also nice to see the man getting some positive attention from adoring fans.  God knows everyone in this Tower could use some happy fans to brighten their day (and, yeah, maybe that does include a certain billionaire, the man’s still as human as… well, more human than most of them, actually).  “Wait!  Holy Wand of Merlin! Does this make him, like, my great godfather?”

“Well, I am a god—”

“Demi-god,” Harry coughs.

“—and I am now the father of your godfather, so I believe a title along the lines of Great God of Mischief or Grand Father of Mischief shall suffice.”

Harry moans, “Oh my _Merlin_ , you’re an insufferable _prick_.”  He turns to Teddy, “don’t call him that.”  Teddy mimes crossing his heart with soulful eyes, making Harry snort.  “But you do now have a couple new uncles and an aunt.”

Teddy turns to Loki, “You have kids?  Who are they? How many of the myths are true?  Can I meet them?  Where are they? How old are they?  They’re all grown up now, aren’t they?  But how old is grown up when you’re immortal?”  He breaks of, muttering to himself.

Loki just raises an eyebrow, and Teddy’s attention has been commanded back to him with just that move… which, wow.  “I have four children by blood.  I sired Hel, Jörmungandr, and Fenrir, and birthed Sleipnir myself while in the form of a mare.”

“Oh my Merlin!  You’re _that_ good of a shape-shifter?” he looks ready to pass out again.

“Teddy,” Harry commands, placing a bar of chocolate in the kid’s hand and curling Teddy’s fingers over it when he doesn’t make a move to grab it, “Go to your room, eat this, and go to sleep.  I’ll wake you for dinner, and you can interrogate the nice God of Mischief _after_ we finish eating, alright?”

Teddy nods, dazed, “Uh-huh,” and Harry has to guide him all the way into the elevator when the kid doesn’t make a move to leave the room under his own power.  Harry walks back after Teddy’s safely bundled away to go sleep, scratching the back of his head in a rare show of awkwardness.

“Er, sorry about that.  We can at least be glad he didn’t faint, right?”

Loki chuckles, and Clint decides that this might possibly be a good time to enter the conversation if he’s ever going to.  He shuffles around, and eventually pokes his head out of the vent, met with the upside-down smiles of two bemused magic users.  He flips down to the floor and gives them a sheepish (right-side-up) smile in return.

“So…” he begins, “did I hear something about kids?”

“Yep!” Harry replies, “You sure did.  Chocolate?” he offers.

Clint’s not really sure were the guy’s storing these things, but takes the bar anyways (because, really—free chocolate?—that’s not something he’s ever gonna turn down). 

Clint turns to Loki, “What are your children doing while you’re off terrorizing planets?”  He hides his wince when Loki’s face grows dark.  Too soon, probably, to be joking about that, but unfortunately Clint deals with his issues by hiding behind humor.

“Most of them have been cast away or are constantly guarded,” Loki replies tonelessly.  Oh.  It wasn’t the joke at Loki’s expense that was the problem—it was the fact that the man’s children have been treated _terribly_ , and probably just because they were Loki’s children.  There are so many things wrong with that idea and he doesn’t want to touch it with a 10-foot pole, but it seems wrong to ignore it now that he’s aware of the issue.  

Harry looks similarly contemplative at Loki’s statement as he munches on _yet another_ bar of chocolate.  Clint sighs; the problems of having a hero-complex, “So, what are we gonna do about that?”

Loki double-takes, then fully absorbs both of their serious expressions.  He gives a smirk at Harry, “The king of Asgard has little sway over the doings of a Child of Death, though that doesn’t mean he won’t attempt to do make overtures against you if he feels threatened by your actions,” Harry nods like he knows what the hell Loki’s talking about, so Clint doesn’t ask.  Loki turns the full force of his gaze onto Clint, “Having an Avenger evaluate potential threats to the world he protects, however, might be substantial cause to keep Odin’s machinations at bay.”

Clint raises his eyebrows at that; he didn’t actually think Loki was going to invite him along on whatever mission this is turning into.  “What threats are you talking about?  Cause that actually sounds like something SHEILD should know about.”

“Oh,” Loki shrugs, careless in a way that belies just how angry he is, “Just my children, prophesized to bring about the end of the known world, cast away to separate prisons in hopes of preventing them from doing such.”

There are really no words for the horror Clint feels at that revelation.  He’d been led to believe that Asgard was an advanced society with advanced science and presumably advanced ideals, but this shows just of _alien_ their society is to Earth today.

Harry’s eyes take on a strange glow, just for a second too long to be written off as a trick of the light.  “One of your children?” he says, teeth bared in the parody of a smile, “That wouldn’t happen to include me now, would it?”

Oh, Asgard is _not_ going to know what hit them if Harry has anything to say about it.  Clint’s actually fairly confident that the kid could actually end a world entirely with just his own power, let alone with Loki and whoever his children are (and possibly Thor and the other Avengers?) backing him up. 

Clint makes a note to never get on the kid’s bad side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((WARNING: MENTION OF RAPE))  
> Did you know? Remus Lupin’s Lycanthropy situation was a metaphor for Fenrir Greyback being a pedophile who raped young Remus on his family’s fateful camping trip, giving him AIDS in the process. Everyone fears and is disgusted by him as he grows up due to this condition, even though it is due to an event he didn’t even remotely consent to. Not to mention the pain and suffering Remus goes through due to just the disease itself…  
> ((END OF WARNING))
> 
> Also, notice the similarity of names there? Gee, I wonder what possibly could have inspired JKR to give a werewolf the name ‘Fenrir’. Huh. NO CLUE.
> 
> Questions, comments, ideas, concerns, or emotional outbursts? Feel free to leave any and all of these in the comments below!! Kudos are also gladly welcomed; they feed this author’s soul!


	7. We All Live In A Yellow Submarine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's watching with fingers clenched tight on his bow as a giant serpent’s head breaches the expanse of water before their little trio. This… this is not a child. This is a nightmare doomsday monster straight out of a grade A horror flick. If this ‘Jorgy’ is the precedent for all of Loki’s children, then Clint suddenly has a very good idea of why the Asgardians felt the need to protect themselves from them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Hi.
> 
> I’m still alive over here, no worries.
> 
> I didn’t have a computer or time over the summer, and I’ve been busy with my senior year of college and trying not to die with that since then. Needless to say, this chapter has literally been in the works for months. Expect future updates to be slow (though maybe not quite this slow). I hold no promises for updates on this fic except that this will never be abandoned.

Clint really wasn’t expecting the snake.

Come with us, they said.  It’ll be fun, they said.  Well, the ‘they’ in question were both lying liars who lie. (Although he’s really not sure why he thought differently of a man who literally has the title 'God of Lies’, nor of the kid who agreed to be adopted by such a god.  Honestly, that should have been enough warning in itself.)

But anyways, here he is, stood on this random little rock in the middle of one of the vast oceans on Earth (they teleported, sue him for not knowing exactly where in the world they are). He's watching with fingers clenched tight on his bow as a giant serpent’s head breaches the expanse of water before their little trio.  This… this is not a child.  This is a nightmare doomsday monster straight out of a grade A horror flick.  If this ‘Jorgy’ is the precedent for all of Loki’s children, then Clint suddenly has a very good idea of why the Asgardians felt the need to protect themselves from them.  Although—minus ten points for lack of forethought on their part; they’ve made enemies of such powerful creatures and Clint can’t see that not coming back to bite Asgard in the ass. 

He also can’t imagine what giving birth to this thing would have been like for whoever its mother was.  Was it ever much smaller than this?

Clint regrets complaining, even in the privacy of his own mind, about the several hours that were spent standing around on this little cold, wet crag exposed in the middle of the ocean and all the elements that entails while they were waiting for ‘Jorgy’ to show up.  Really, he didn’t want to know such a massive and terrifying creature existed in his planet’s oceans.  He was perfectly fine being ignorant of this fact.

And now he’s being a massive hypocrite.

Clint sighs, forcing his fingers to relax their grip on his bow.  He lets his shoulders relax their tension and tilts his chin up.  He’s not gonna be meek in the face of Jorgy’s might, but he’s not gonna be threatening either.

He was just as bad as any of the Asgardians he was so recently cursing.  Just as bad as anyone who’s gone after Bruce.  He’s judged Jorgy for the shape he bears, for the form Clint views as monstrous just because it’s different and strange.  Jorgy has made no move against them, has done no harm at all in the long moments the two parties have stood examining each other.

He has to bear in mind that Jorgy’s father is not two meters from himself, and both he and Harry are capable magic users who are perfectly able to ensure everyone’s safety.  Clint doesn’t know when he gained such deep trust in Harry and Loki, but he did, and he does trust them to keep him as safe as possible during this encounter.

For a tense minute, there is nothing but a wary silence stretching between their trio and Jorgy, broken only by the waves crashing against their rocky stand.  Harry finally makes the first move, stepping forward and… hissing?  Oooookay.  Harry’s hissing at the massive serpent.  Jorgy, in return, opens his colossal maw just enough to flick his tongue out quickly.  Once, twice, then three times.

Jorgy hisses in return.

Loki flinches back, but Clint just blinks.  Are they… communicating somehow?  Some sort of snake language?  He watches with growing interest as Harry and Jorgy continue hissing to each other, Loki looking guiltier and more ashamed with every sentence passing between the pair.

Finally, Harry turns to Loki with a look of pure contempt on his face, “You didn’t even _try_ to visit, did you.”  It’s obviously not a question.

Loki draws further into himself, “I didn’t want to bring attention to you, didn’t want to lead those with ill intent to you when you’d done no wrong and were content with the lot dealt to you.  I did not forget you, nor did I fail to check on you from afar during your time here.”

Jorgy hisses some short phrase, nice and calm, but Loki flinches violently at it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice strangled.  He looks up at his son, voice pleading, “I was only doing what I thought was best for your safety and well being, my son.”

Jorgy rumbles out a response, tongue flicking the air again.

Loki bows his head, “I understand.  Thank you.”  He looks at Harry, but Harry motions for him to continue speaking, “If you wanted to, we could take you right now to visit some companions of mine here on Midgard.  Harry’s godson, for example, would be interested in making your acquaintance.”

Jorgy’s head tilts, once again bringing Clint’s attention to just how _absolutely massive_ the kid is when the iridescent scales on his head glint wetly as they catch the sun.  Are they really bringing him to the tower?  Cause Clint’s not quite sure how those logistics work.

The snake nods though, and then ... shrinks?  Clint almost groans, just what he needs in his life; more magic and shape shifting.

Soon enough, though, there's a human boy standing on the rocks with them. His head is a little more flat than it should be, his limbs are stubby, and his eyes are all wrong, but he's human enough to pass muster at first glance.

The kid blinks a couple of times, as if disoriented, then focuses on Loki and nods, "Well then, shall we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions, comments, ideas, concerns, or emotional outbursts? Feel free to leave any and all of these in the comments below!! Kudos are also gladly welcomed; they feed this author’s soul!


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